Little Coquette (17 page)

“Aunt Prissie told me she would be leaving London and couldn’t visit me for a while,” he said. “I hope she is not ill?”

Beaumont and Lydia exchanged a questioning look. “Your aunt Prissie?” Beaumont asked.

“Yes. I am an orphan. Did you not know? When Papa died, I was placed with the Nevils. Aunt Prissie visits every week, and my uncle comes as often as he can. They are not husband and wife. Prissie is my aunt on my mama’s side; my uncle is from my papa’s side. Now that his wife has died, he wants me to go and live with him. Lonesome, I daresay. He has no children. What were you saying about Prissie?”

They began walking toward the cottage, with Richard leading his mount.

“I’m afraid she met with an accident, Richard,” Beaumont said. “She was drowned.”

“How horrible!” Richard cried. He was obviously shocked and sorry, yet not so sorry as if he’d known she was his mother. “When did it happen? Is there anything I can do? I wonder if Uncle Horace knows.”

“I’m not sure,” Beaumont said. He looked at Lydia, who was looking at him with a question growing in her eyes. “What is your uncle’s last name?” Beaumont asked, although he already had an inkling.

Richard looked at them, surprised. “Why, Horace Findley. Did Prissie not tell you? I am Richard Findley.”

Lydia gasped. Horace Findley! That model husband, the grieving widower.

To cover her shock, Beaumont said, “Findley, of course. That was the name,” and nodded, as if it had merely slipped his mind. “So, you will be joining your uncle Horace. I daresay you are looking forward to that.”

“The Nevils have been very kind. I would not say a word against them, but family is more—intimate,” he said, choosing the word with care. “And, of course, as I am to inherit my uncle’s estate, it is only fitting that I should learn how to run it, now that I am growing up. But I am most distressed to hear about Aunt Prissie. How did it happen? A boating accident?”

Lydia felt it was up to Horace Findley to decide what his son should be told. “I’m not sure,” she said. “A friend of Prissie’s told me of her death. I was very sorry to hear of it.”

As the shock of Richard’s true father ebbed, Lydia remembered the other reason she had come. “The last time your aunt was here, did she bring a parcel with her? She didn’t leave anything with you?”

“She did bring a little box, but she didn’t leave it with me.”

She had to quell her excitement, for she did not want to incite Richard to suspicion. “Do you know what she did with it?”

He pointed behind the house, into the distance on his left. “There’s a pond back there. She threw it into the pond. She didn’t know I saw her. She did it before she came to the house. I happened to be at my bedroom window. I asked her about it. It was just some old love letters she wanted to be rid of. She weighted them down with stones and threw them in the pond. It’s not very deep, but I didn’t pull them out. I didn’t think I should look at them—and besides, they’d be all waterlogged,” he added less nobly. “She couldn’t throw them very far, being only a woman.”

Lydia just shook her head. How early this easy assumption of masculine superiority set in.

“Well, as long as the letters are safely disposed of,” Beaumont said, with a meaningful glance at Lydia.

“Who were they from?” Richard asked.

Lydia said in confusion, “I—I really couldn’t say.”

“I know Aunt Prissie had a beau. Well, a patron, to be frank. She was an actress, you know. A little unconventional, but a jolly good sort. The letters must have been—interesting, for he sent some fellow after them. He broke into the house one night. I’m sure that is what he was after. This isn’t the sort of house the ken smashers break into. As if Prissie would publish them or sell them. P’raps she just told him that for a lark. She was a great one for jokes.”

Lydia thought of her mama, who never joked or laughed. Prissie must have been a welcome change for her papa. She felt they had learned what they came to learn and was eager to be alone with Beaumont to discuss recovering the plates. She assumed it was the plates Prissie had cast into the pond, not letters.

Richard invited them in for tea. “Mrs. Nevil would like to meet you,” he said.

“We are in a bit of a hurry, but pray do give her my regards,” Lydia said.

Richard accompanied them back to the carriage and looked with interest at the crest on its panel. “I don’t believe I caught your name, ma’am.”

“We’re the Beaumonts,” Beaumont said, and shook Richard’s hand.

Richard studied the crest a moment; then he looked inside the carriage. “I say! What a handsome ship model! Is it yours, milord? I noticed the crest on your door panel,” he added, with a knowing smile. “I thought the letters must be from you, but any gentleman with such a lovely young wife would not be writing to another woman.” This was accompanied by a bow in Lydia’s direction.

“Nor would I be fool enough to bring my wife on an errand to recover them,” Beaumont replied. “Milady has quite a temper, and is jealous as a green cow.”

“And you, milord, have a marvelous imagination. The ship is for you, Richard,” Lydia said, feeling foolish as she handed it to him. It must have been several years ago that Prissie bought that sailor suit for her son. “A—bequest from your aunt Prissie.”

“Oh, I say! What a handsome gift!” he exclaimed, smiling and examining it. “It is just like Aunt Prissie. She always knew exactly what I wanted. I didn’t even know she owned such a thing. I shall treasure it.”

“I’m glad you like it. And now we had best leave, Beau.”

Richard waved them off, standing by his gray cob, holding the model of the
Princess Margaret
under one arm.

“There’s a bit of a shocker!” Beaumont said, as the carriage lurched into motion.

“At least he liked the boat,” she said, and dissolved into a fit of nervous giggles.

“Relieved Richard isn’t your brother?” Beaumont asked, as they drove back to London.

“Relieved, disappointed, too,” she said with a wistful smile. “He seems a nice boy. Fancy old Horace Findley!”

“What has happened to your self-righteous indignation? This siring of illegitimate sons was a greater crime when Sir John was the culprit.”

“What is Horace Findley to me?” she replied with a shrug. “I can’t change the world, but I expect better from my own father.”

“You’ve abrogated the parents’ role to yourself. It is usually the father who expects better from his children. But then I daresay you never caused Sir John a single sleepless night—until now, I mean.”

“It was Mama who lost sleep over me, due to my lack of interest in marriage. It sounded so excessively boring, all duty and no fun.”

“Did she never tell you some of those duties can be amusing?” he asked, with a smile she could not quite trust. His lips were unsteady, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw something more serious. When she failed to reply, he said, “We’ll soon have Richard for a neighbor. He’ll be surprised Lord and Lady Beaumont occupy separate houses.”

“We’ll have to have a word with him, convince him he misunderstood.”

“Either that, or get married,” Beau replied reasonably.

Lydia gave him a long, silent look. Was he joking? Did he feel he had compromised her by being seen with her around London? Did he just feel it was time to settle down, now that he had begun his political life? A father-in-law in the Cabinet would be a help to his career, but somehow she couldn’t think Beau was that devious. Was it possible he actually loved her? She could tell nothing from his impassive face.

He waited to hear how she reacted to this notion, but when she spoke, she said, “We are not the only ones who will have some explaining to do. I wonder how Findley will explain his son to the neighborhood.”

Beaumont felt a sting of disappointment. Most ladies would have made that the start of an excellent flirtation. “Nephew,” he said. “That is the story he told Richard.”

“Horace doesn’t have a brother.”

“He has a sister, has he not?”

“Yes, a spinster who lives in Tunbridge Wells. His wife, Alice, had some siblings, and he has various cousins. Beau!” She sat upright and grabbed his arm. “That is what Horace was doing at the House this morning, wanting to see Papa. He was warning him that he meant to adopt Richard, and that he must not blow the gaff. I wonder how it all happened, Horace jilting Prissie, and Papa taking her on.”

“The two gentlemen are friends. It is not unusual for a gent to arrange a new patron when he gives his mistress her congé. Don’t scowl at me! I am merely explaining how it might have happened. I daresay your papa met her through Horace in any case.”

“Yes, I don’t see how else he would have met a woman like that. Not that I mean to denigrate her, but they would not travel in the same circles.”

They drove on a while in silence while each considered how this new development affected the case.

“About the plates—” Beaumont said.

Lydia understood him at once. “After dark,” she replied. “We shall go back after dark and fish them out of the pond.”

“That leaves Dooley off scot-free.” He sat, frowning a moment. “Unless ...” They exchanged a speaking glance.

Lydia said, “Unless we can convince him to steal them from us, and have Bow Street catch him with the plates in his possession. All we have to do is let him know we have them. He’ll do the rest.”

“We must do it in such a way that he doesn’t smell a trap.”

“He already knows I am not Nancy. He was quizzing Sally about me. It seems Nancy is a blonde. Prissie mentioned it to him. He knows I have some interest in all this. I think he would believe it if I let it be known I have the plates.”

“Too dangerous,” he said at once.

“We must arrange it in some safe manner. I’ll let him know I’m Sir John’s daughter, that Prissie left a parcel with him for safekeeping, not telling him what was in it, of course. I opened the parcel and realized the possibilities of the plates. I am interested in selling them to the highest bidder. He already suspects I’m no better than I should be, after my appearance at the Pantheon. I could say I am in the suds and need the money desperately to— to—what?”

“Buy back some indiscreet love letters?” he suggested.

“Or pay my gambling debts.”

“It’s still dangerous. And how could we let him know all this?”

She thought a moment, then said, “Sally could act as our go-between. She sees him from time to time. Let us go and have a chat with Sally.”

* * * *

“You’re playing with fire, Miss Trevelyn,” Sally said, when they opened their budget to her, explaining what they had been doing, and outlined the plan for Dooley’s capture. “He killed Prissie, and he’d kill you, too, without blinking. He knows you ain’t Nancy. He got hold of Prissie’s mail and there was a letter in it from Nancy saying she was coming to town next week. She wrote it the day you was at the Pantheon, so he knows you ain’t her.”

“Good, then it should be easy to convince him I am Miss Trevelyn.”

Once this was understood, Sally entered into the plan with enthusiasm. “I could say I got a look in your reticule when you was out of the room, and there was a letter in it addressed to Miss Trevelyn.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“How do you know he killed Prissie?” Beaumont asked.

“When he was here after you left this morning, he had Prissie’s watch, that Sir John gave her. A pretty little hunter’s watch it was. She never took it off, she was that proud of it. It was real gold, not pinchbeck. She was wearing it when she left London. He must of laid his own watch on the shelf. He pulled out his watch to see the time, and it was hers. Be push ed itback into his pocket fast, but I saw it. I let on I hadn’t, or he’d have killed me. She never would have given it to him. He killed her. I know it in my bones.”

“Have you any idea where we could reach him?” Beaumont asked.

“He never gives no address. I fancy he’s looking for you two. He’ll be back here sooner or later.”

“When he comes, I want you to give him a letter from me. I’ll write it now,” Lydia said, and asked Sally for a piece of paper.

She discussed with Beaumont what to write. “I’ll be the one to meet him,” he said.

“No, he might suspect a trick,” Lydia objected.

“He knows we are friends. A lady would never go alone on an errand of this sort. It will look natural for you to send your beau. Let me go.”

After a moment’s pause, she said, “We’ll go together.”

“Very well,” he agreed, although he didn’t intend to let Lydia expose herself to such danger.

“What time should I suggest?” she asked.

“We have to go back to St. John’s Wood. Make it early tomorrow morning. Just at daybreak. It would be too easy for him to arrange a nasty surprise at night. With his criminal connections, he could have a dozen villains lying in wait for us.”

“Why not meet him where he can’t arrange any surprises? I mean at Grosvenor Square.”

“I doubt he would go there. He’d suspect a trap. Besides, we don’t want to involve Sir John.”

“Some public place, then,” she said.

“Why not here?” Sally suggested.

After some more hurried discussion, Lydia wrote:

Mr. Dooley:

I have what you want. The price is two thousand pounds. Meet me at Prissie’s flat tomorrow morning at six. Bring the money if you want the items.

Nancy Shepherd

Beaumont read it over her shoulder. “That should smoke him out. I wonder if he can raise two thousand pounds on such short notice.”

“That won’t stop him,” Sally said. “He’ll come planning to knock you out and steal them.”

“When he asks where you got the letter,” Lydia said to Sally, “tell him I gave it to you. I am sorry to have pulled such a stunt on you, Sally, but I had to do something to find out who killed Prissie.”

“All for a good cause. You made a dandy bit o’ muslin, miss.” Lydia accepted this compliment with equanimity; Beaumont’s lips twitched. “Truth to tell, I did have my doubts about you, for you talked so funny, but Nancy was acting as a lady’s maid, so I thought that accounted for it. Prissie was my friend, too. My best friend. It’s nice of you to go to so much bother for her, her being your da’s
chère amie
and all. It would put some girls off, like. I’m real glad Richie’s found a good home as well. Can I do anything else to help?”